


pestilence & plague

by space_goose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Infection, M/M, Mutual Pining, OOC Tony, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Transformation, Zombies, but for a reason ;), probably set somewhere around 2012
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-06-29 14:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_goose/pseuds/space_goose
Summary: Steve stumbles into Tony's workshop in a desperate need of painkillers because of a pounding headache. The supersoldier has fallen ill to an unknown virus that curses him with an insatiable hunger and uncontrollable rage. The Avengers are tasked with keeping him locked within the Tower while Tony develops a cure, but everything goes south from thereon.





	1. day one | the hunger

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so. i love zombies and viruses (even tho one is kicking my ass right now..rip..), and slow transformation is literally my fav trope to write. hope u enjoy this dark little stony fic :)
> 
> p.s: the other avengers will appear soon!

The door to Tony’s workshop opened with a falter, but the genius didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy thud of each footstep was enough evidence to name the man they belonged to.

“What’s up, Cap?” Tony questioned, his attention still thoroughly attached to his newest creation. In his hand was a test tube, half-filled of a mysterious red liquid.

Steve took a moment to reply. Only the sound of his approaching footsteps answered the reigning silence.

“I was wondering if you had any strong painkillers.”

That got Tony’s attention. The man spun around in his chair, tipping his glasses down to take a good look at the captain.

“Captain America needs _painkillers?_ ” Tony released a nervous chuckle. “Must be bad. What’s up?”

“My head is killing me,” he explained, planting a firm hand against his temple. His teeth occasionally bared in a silent grunt of pain. “Feels like my brain is on fire.”

“Definitely not normal,” Tony hopped off his chair, striding across his workshop to another desk and opened a drawer, picking out various tubes of pills and meds. He glanced at the labels, searching for something strong enough for the ‘brain on fire’ symptom that Steve was experiencing.

“Here,” Tony finally said, walking towards Steve. “Take two of these with water. Oh, and make sure to eat something immediately after. Should help with your migraine.” He popped two pills onto his hand, holding them out for Steve.

“Thanks, Tony.” He grabbed the pills, keeping them secure in his palm. The two men shared silent goodbyes and split off from there.

Unexpectedly, Steve returned an hour later, worse than he had been before. His hefty footsteps were sluggish and unstable, unlike his usual steady and soldier-like pace. There was a hint of panic in his voice, and a sharp inhale every few seconds, seemingly because of random spikes of pain.

The supersoldier leant heavily against the doorframe, eyes flinching in the light. “Tony… The painkillers didn’t work,” Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing deeply into the skin. 

Tony was initially surprised by Steve’s unexpected return, but concern outweighed his surprise quickly after. “Do you think the serum is diluting the effect of the painkillers?”

The other man shrugged weakly. “Maybe… Can I take more?”

“Won’t hurt to try.” With any other person, it would be a death wish. But Steve was different, or, at least that was what Tony believed (and hoped). The man returned to the drawer of meds and fetched a tube of pills, tossing it over to Steve.

“Take them with you. If the migraine gets any worse, just let me know. Alright?”

The soldier nodded, remaining quiet. He left the room without another word, yet Tony couldn’t shift his gaze from him. He was more intrigued than concerned. Captain America, the superhuman laboratory puppy who possessed a superior body able to fight back against all kinds of infection and injury, was distressed because of a _headache._ Tony had remained observant the second Steve wandered into his workshop complaining about his throbbing headache. He was inquisitive by nature! It was always entertaining to have a subject to study, and as much as Steve was his friend, Tony wasn’t letting the opportunity slip through his fingers.

-0-

The hours passed by and Steve never returned to Tony’s workshop. Tony assumed the painkillers had worked, given that the supersoldier hadn’t come back begging for more once he finished the tube of pills Tony had provided him. That was something Tony made note of as he scribbled a quick memo into his notebook.

Around nine o'clock at night, when his stomach was begging to be fed, the man headed to the kitchen. He would’ve grabbed a quick meal from the fridge and left if it wasn’t for the bizarre scene playing out in the kitchen. It stopped Tony dead in his tracks, leaving him both muddled and intrigued.

In the kitchen stood Steve, fists full of food, fridge door wide open, and the bench stacked with what seemed to be nearly everything from both the fridge and pantry. Most of the food packaging had been torn open and emptied, some of the food spread messily across the bench surface. The room was congested with an aura of spoiled meat. Tony felt nauseated when the stench caught in his nose. The supersoldier standing in the kitchen shoved something into his mouth but blushed bright red once he noticed Tony watching him from the doorway. Without chewing, he swallowed what was in his mouth out of instinctive panic, choking on the unchewed food. He pounded a heavy fist against the bench and groaned, hiding his face from Tony out of shame.

Once he caught his breath, an endless trail of apologies followed. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry. This—this is inappropriate. I’ve made a mess—”

Tony silenced him before he could finish his apology. 

“Hey, no, it’s fine. Are you still feeling unwell? Migraine still bugging you?” 

Jumbled words spewed from Steve’s mouth, unable to describe what was causing him distress. He thumped his palm against his head to try and explain without the use of verbal description.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my head. It’s throbbing— almost like my brain is cooking inside my skull,” he dropped what was in his hands, then grabbed his head. “And my stomach… I can’t satiate my hunger. I’ve been eating for hours but I’m still starving!”

Tony furrowed his brows, taking a step closer, but cautiously. “Are you angry?”

The question seemed to puzzle Steve momentarily. “ _Furious_. Don’t know why, but it keeps getting worse. What’s wrong with me?” Distraught, he smashed his fist against the bench again, this time leaving a dent in the surface. The damage didn’t seem to bother him, almost like he hadn’t even felt the impact. Tony made a mental note.

“You don’t have any mental disorders, right?”

Steve shook his head. “Even if I did, I’ve never been informed of them.”

Silence followed, but Steve’s heavy breathing filled the empty air. Listening to the fear in the man’s erratic panting was starting to cause Tony’s heart to ache. His breath hitched. “Look, just try and stop eating, and get some sleep. Can you manage that?”

Another round of silence, and then a grunt. For a split second, Steve’s face seemed to flash with anger. His original expression returned immediately after. “I’ll try my hardest. Will you be in your workshop?”

Tony chuckled. “Where else would I be?” He didn’t need to make it obvious that Steve was welcomed into Tony’s room whenever he felt the need to, the supersoldier already knew he had gained that privilege. And besides, now that he was ill, Tony was the go-to man. 

“I’ll try and figure out what’s bugging you, alright? And don’t worry about the mess, just get some sleep.”

Steve looked pained. “Alright. Goodnight, Tony. And thanks.”

“Anything for my star-spangled friend. Goodnight.”

Tony watched as Steve left the room, directing careful attention to his sluggish pace and crooked saunter. There wasn’t any injury to Steve’s legs—or anywhere else on his body—but the migraine appeared to be affecting his balance. It was indisputable that Steve wouldn’t be able to fall asleep easily. With the constant gnawing of emptiness in his stomach, the unexplainable frustration and the throbbing migraine, there was little hope for Steve tonight. Tony was ready to be faced with a maddened, ravenous and exhausted Steve in the morning.

That was not something he was looking forward to.


	2. day 1.5 | hunger evolved

A crashing cacophony awoke Tony. The man shot up, one side of his face sore from having it planted against the desk all night. He must have fallen asleep while he was working. Rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he scanned the room with attentive eyes to make sure no one had snuck in. When he found no sign of recent clutter, he assumed the noise that woke him was from somewhere else in the tower. Whatever it was, it was something heavy. Tony rose from his seat and summoned a gauntlet onto his hand, just for extra precaution. The tower was dark, given it was four in the morning, and now it was completely silent. Only the hum of Tony’s gauntlet and his cautious footsteps filled the silence. That didn’t last for long. Another loud crash rang from the kitchen, instigating Tony to break into a sprint. 

He was suspecting Steve rather than an evil villain to be making a mess in the kitchen. When he finally arrived at the kitchen, his suspicions were correct. But not even Tony’s genius brain predicted the chaos he had wandered into.

The refrigerator door had been tossed onto the floor, ripped right off its hinges. Piles of food—mostly meat—was littered across the floor. Amid the chaos was Steve, scoffing handfuls of raw meat _into his mouth_. He sounded like a wild animal, panting crazily as he ripped apart the raw cuts of beef with his teeth and nails. He was hunched over, knees flat on the floor and his hands stuffed in the mess. And the smell… it was _nauseating_. Tony had to breathe through his mouth.

The supersoldier hadn’t noticed Tony’s presence yet, too enthralled in his disgusting conquest of meat. The raw meat was bloody, and a lot of that blood was coating Steve’s lips and hands like a second skin. It dribbled down his chin as he gnawed ferally.

Tony couldn’t bear to watch it continue any longer. He couldn’t risk Steve becoming ill.

“Steve! What are you doing?!”

The vicious chewing stopped. A confused growl reverberated against the walls, and a timid Steve looked up from his meal. It only took a few words from Tony to turn the untamed animal into a scared, ashamed man.

“I…” A pained grunt tore past his lips. “I don’t know. _I don’t know._ ” His timid state had left as quickly as it appeared, and suddenly the supersoldier was furious. Nothing triggered his rage, but Tony knew within seconds that his safety was in jeopardy. The feral behaviour returned, joined by animalistic growls and gnashing of teeth. 

Tony instinctively raised the gauntlet. “Steve? Calm down, buddy. Tell me what’s wrong. We can figure this out together.”

Steve snarled, dropping the piece of raw pork he was about to bite. “I couldn’t _sleep_. Brain is burning, stomach growling. Had a craving for red meat.”

“Why didn’t you come see me?” Tony questioned, gingerly stepping closer to his friend. “I can help. Want me to go fetch you some sleeping pills?”

“I don’t know. Can’t think straight. Are sleeping pills okay? Better than painkillers?”

The smaller man sighed sadly. He nodded. _No, they probably won’t work._ At least they should calm him down. 

“Yeah, much better than those cruddy painkillers. Come with me. I’ll let you sleep in my workshop.” Out of all the possibilities that went through Tony’s head on how to get Captain America into his bed, this wasn’t one of them. Most of the possibilities started with a steamy kiss or agonising sexual tension that they couldn’t live with any longer.

Steve hummed affirmatively, standing up weakly. His legs were shaky, and his balance was wonky. It was worse than last night. Tony was worried the supersoldier wouldn’t be able to walk without falling back to the ground.

“Can you walk?”

“Hardly.”

“Good enough.” Tony walked closer, closer… and grabbed Steve’s wrist. There was no aggressive outburst, no clawing or biting as Tony had been expecting. Steve only made a small sound, like a quiet hum. 

“Let’s go.”

Tony walked Steve back to his workshop (and fetching a glass of water on the way), keeping him steady with wary hands and keeping him on his feet when his legs could no longer support his hefty body. Eventually, their hands had ended up entwined, but Tony was sure Steve had too much on his mind to care.

Carefully, Tony sat Steve down onto his bed. The supersoldier clutched onto the glass of water as if it was the only thing that allowed him to continue breathing. He used some of the water to wash the dried blood off his mouth. Ordering him to stay, Tony left to grab sleeping pills. His hands were dug deep inside the drawer of pills when he heard Steve begin complaining.

“Tony? Tony, something is happening,” he fretted, panic bubbling in his voice. 

Tony looked over his shoulder and saw Steve staring wide-eyed at the floor. He was trembling fearfully, hands gripping white onto the sheets of the bed. There were no evident clues into what exactly was causing him anguish. Yet, seeing him in such a distraught state was startling.

“What’s wrong?”

“My eyes...” Steve planted his palms firm to his temples. “Everything is going blurry!”

That explained why Tony couldn’t _see_ the issue itself. “Do your eyes hurt? Burn, sting?”

Steve shook his head. “No. Just blurry. Oh, God.” The panic in his voice spiked. Hyperventilating, he pushed himself up from the bed to pace back and forth. “What’s happening to me?”

The situation was becoming painful to watch. Within seconds, Tony had the sleeping pills in hand and was by Steve’s side. He walked him back to the bed, sat him down, and kneeled in front of him. He encumbered Steve’s hands with his own, attempting to steady his hyperventilation. His thumb brushed over the soldier’s knuckles as they made eye contact. That seemed to soothe Steve’s nerves; letting the soldier know he wasn’t alone.

“Take slow breaths. Okay? Can you do that for me, big boy?” Tony slipped the pills into Steve’s palms. “Take them with the water. I’ll stay here with you. You’re okay.”

Breaths steadying, Steve nodded. With shaky hands, he raised the glass of water and swallowed the pills down with water. 

Tony stood up and sat next to him, rubbing a tentative hand over Steve’s back. That seemed to calm him down, but not completely. His body was trembling beneath Tony’s fingers. He leaned on Tony’s side, all sense of personal space tossed out the window. Tony snaked an arm over Steve’s shoulders. Luckily, he didn’t mind. In his chest, Tony’s heart was fluttering like mad. He wasn’t expecting to have Steve so close to him—so _warm_ next to him. In his best effort to not make the situation awkward, he refrained himself from snuggling Cap like a touch-starved boyfriend.

“Just stay here. Close your eyes, focus on your breaths.”

Steve clenched his eyes shut, but begun to groan in frustration seconds later.

“I’m so _hungry_ ,” he smacked his lips together. “And my stomach—shit, feels like it’s being torn apart.”

“I know, I know. Don’t panic, I’ll fix this. I _will_ fix this. Just breath slowly.”

It felt like it took hours. Maybe even the entire night until morning, but eventually, the soldier fell into a deep sleep. His body went loose, leaning his whole weight onto Tony.

“Woah,” Tony gasped. He had been beginning to worry that the pills wouldn’t work. 

“Goodnight, Captain.” He laid the American supersoldier down onto his bed, combing a hand through his blonde, soft hair, and left. Tony initially didn’t sleep, he had inventions to perfect. He passed out at six in the morning when his brain figured it was time to take a nap.

But Steve woke up an hour after Tony fell asleep.


	3. day 2 | brain decay

Two of the Avengers were in the bar area, between them sharing silence. It was early; much too early to initiate any kind of conversation. Clint had only visited the bar for a drink, while Natasha was busying herself with a book. There wasn’t much to do, and a book seemed more interesting than nothing. SHIELD had no missions and there weren’t any Avengers-level events happening. What was there for a superhero to do when there were no supervillains causing disruption and devastation? Apparently, to Tony, there was a ton of things to do when the city wasn’t under attack. None of his ideas of fun interested Natasha. She had better things to do than sleep around and drink until she blacked out.

Clint left Natasha to her own devices after five minutes of silence (well, Clint was talking, but Natasha only responded in grunts and curt replies). That was okay, she was fine with that, but another man decided to interrupt her quiet time a few minutes later. A strangled groan tore her attention away from the pages of the novel and her instinctive defences kicked in. The book was thrown to the side as she stood up abruptly, wrists pointed forward to blast any threats. But confusion soon clouded her anxiety once Steve stumbled into the room. In seconds, she discerned abnormalities in Steve’s appearance. The white of his eyes was a deep red, looking distressingly inflamed. His movement was sluggish and crooked, each step either too far or too short. His jaw was hanging open, teeth snapping together occasionally to create a repeated clicking noise.

He looked high. Did the serum even allow him to get baked? 

“Steve?” Natasha tested, lowering her arms. She continued to watch as the supersoldier limped closer, muttering incoherent phrases under his breath. His head jerked from side to side in swift, vicious movements.

 _Okay, he is definitely not high,_ Natasha concluded, because not even Steve would act so odd under the influence of drugs. This was different, and in all honesty, it was almost zombie-like.

“Steve…? Are you okay?”

Suddenly, Steve’s head shot up. Piercing red eyes met with Nat’s, but his tense state eased once he recognised her. A normal human-like appearance returned to him, but his eyes remained a hostile scarlet. The baby blue of his irises weren't enough to soften the fierce blaze that was lit behind his eyes. 

With a hoarse voice, he returned, “Nat?”

“Hi, big guy,” Natasha greeted gingerly. “What’s up?” She knew staying calm and nonchalant would be best for both of them.

Steve sounded like he was about to cry. However, he refrained himself, but the pain in his voice made it disturbingly obvious that Captain America was truly terrified beyond his wits. 

“Pain…” His breath hitched; another attempt to stop himself from crying. “Please… Nat, you have to… help me.” He rubbed the bottom of his palm into his eye, choking on a few dry gasps. A small grunt of pain escaped him, and his hands quickly moved away from his reddened eye.

Natasha’s anxiety spiked. Comforting Steve with gentle touches might help… or they might make him hostile. She wanted to reach out and pull him into a tight hug, but it wasn’t worth the risk of Steve lashing out. With his super strength, the last thing Natasha needed was him using his full strength on her, especially during an adrenaline rush. A single punch would send her straight into the afterlife.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Sit down,” she directed him to the couch, trying her best not to apply any kind of firm pressure against him. Anything could set him off. Steve stumbled to the couch, falling with his entire body weight. It almost broke the internal structure of the seat but managed to hold itself (and Steve). He couldn’t sit upright. Half his body was leaning to the side, dangling like a fish on a hook.

“E…eyes. My eyes hurt. Lights hurt. Floaters in my vision. Fucking-- _hurts_ ,” Steve hissed, staring up at the ceiling with empty eyes. It disturbed Natasha; the way his eyes seemed so… vacant. She had read about it so often, yet she had never seen it. It truly looked like there was no one inside Steve, that the man had fled his body and left behind a broken soul of what he used to be. Those empty eyes met with Nat’s.

“Tony won’t—won’t…” His breath hitched, louder this time. “No, he can. He can help, just hasn’t yet. Doesn’t know what is wrong with—with me. I thought he was a genius, can’t even help me.”

In all of Natasha’s undercover missions into the most fucked up of places and the darkest of human minds, she had never come across something quite like this.

“I’m sure he’s trying.”

“He was dead asleep when I woke up.”

“A man needs his sleep, Steve.”

Steve became agitated, growling. “I thought he cared about me.” He stood up, lurching his body forward. “If he cared so much, he wouldn’t sleep. He would—would keep working. Until—until it was done.” 

“Steve, he _cares._ If he doesn’t get any sleep, he wouldn’t be much use to you, would he?”

Natasha hoped that would knock some sense into Steve’s empty head, but the soldier was too uptight to listen. 

“No…” The creature posing as Steve Rogers was slowly losing his disguise. His agitated state only heightened, and soon, he was snarling like a wild animal. “Tony…” he hissed, turning his head toward the doorframe. With another howl, he broke into a sprint. It was a slow run, allowing Natasha a good shot. Raising her wrists, she fired a taser at the maddened soldier. He fell to the floor with a thud, his capacitated limbs convulsing as the volts surged through him. Given his size, she zapped him for a good five seconds in each of his major muscle groups.

It hurt to do, but it was necessary. Nat couldn’t let a crazed supersoldier bolt into Tony’s workshop—she couldn’t let Steve go anywhere! Who knew what chaos he could bring to the place? But his strange condition still confused her, so the best place to head next was the workshop. Steve should be incapacitated for at least thirty or sixty minutes, so she knew she had to be quick.

-0-

“Stark, wake up.” Was the first thing Tony heard after something hard hit him across the head. With a choked gasp, he shot upright.

“Ow! Seriously?” He groaned, rubbing the back of his head. That was going to lead to a throbbing headache later. “What?! Why are you hitting me? What happened now?”

“Steve.”

And then Tony felt his heart sink to his knees. 

“He’s not awake, right?” He didn’t need Natasha to answer that question. He turned around and his eyes were met with an empty bed. “That wasn’t meant to happen.”

Natasha growled, clearly agitated. "Why didn't you tell us? Can’t you do something to help him? Are you even trying?”

“Of course I’m trying!” He gestured to the tons of research and science on his desk.

“Steve seems to think otherwise.”

Tony sighed. “He’s anxious, I know. It upsets me to see him like this, but you have to give me some time. I can’t magically whip up the cure by twitching my nose.”

Silence followed. “I know,” Natasha finally sighed. “I’m sorry. Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Tony shook his head. “Not exactly. It’s a virus, some sort of blood-borne pathogen. To be honest, it reminds me of the rage virus.”

“The what?”

“Really? From the movie ’28 Days Later’?” Natasha cocked a brow. Tony made an exasperated sigh. “ _Basically_ , it’s a 'zombie' virus. But zombies are made-up, so there’s no need to worry about Steve planning to eat your brains.”

“I was more worried about Steve dying than having my brains eaten.”

“Actually, hold that thought. He hasn’t… tried to bite you, right?”

“The only person I’ve seen him threatening to eat is you.”

Tony swallowed nervously, but there was a hint of anger to his voice that Natasha noticed. “Wait, really? Like, eat me as if I was a roast dinner, or eat me in a kinky way?”

She rolled her eyes. “Neither, he just didn’t sound particularly happy when he said your name. I was worried he wanted to hurt you.”

“That man never appreciates anything I do for him,” he retorted. “If it weren’t for me, he’d probably be way further in the infection process by now. I was doing him a favour.” Tony spun around in his chair, facing his desk. His fingers tapped ambiguous tunes against the metallic surface.

“It won’t be long until he becomes more prone to aggressive outbursts. His prefrontal cortex is under the process of being heavily altered as we speak. You know what that means? Lack of judgement, decision making and logical thinking. Then the connections to his amygdala and prefrontal cortex will be severely reduced, and in short, he won’t have emotional control, and there won’t be much stopping him from tearing any one of us apart.”

“How do you know all that? You said you didn’t know what it was!”

“Yeah, I definitely didn’t know what it was before you said he wanted to eat me," he sneered. "The game’s changed now. I need you and the other Avengers to keep him out of the workshop. Try _not_ to kill him, though. I need him for research.” When Natasha didn’t start moving, Tony snapped. “Go! Now!”

And yet, the spy did not move an inch. “No, something isn’t right.” She moved closer, boring a piercing glare through Tony’s thick skull. “You aren't telling the truth. You're lying out of your ass."

“Yeah, maybe I am. So what? That doesn’t change the fact that Steve-fucking-Rogers is literally going to kill me if you don’t get your ass in there and restrain him!”

“Don’t think this conversation is over," Natasha asserted sternly. "You have a lot to explain, philanthropist.”

Tony was no threat. It would be a joke to measure his bullshit against a zombified supersoldier. With a final irritated growl and glare directed at Tony, she bolted from the workshop.

He sighed. "Idiot,” he muttered to himself. His eyes trailed to the bed; the empty bed. The bed that was supposed to have a huge, handsome man lying on it. “They weren’t meant to find out yet, you idiot. Why couldn’t you have just stayed in here with me?” He dropped his face into his palms, resting his elbows on the desk. The cold glass surface of a test tube caressed his skin as his elbow tapped it. He looked down, eyeing the red liquid inside. Inside the liquid was a virus capable of turning the kindest and most moral-driven people into ravenous monsters incapable of feeling emotion who lash out at anything that threatened them in the slightest. 

What a perfect, _perfect_ weapon. A perfectly dangerous weapon that had escaped its enclosure.

There was one question he craved to have answered: how fast could the entire team become infected?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight, next chapter is when the term 'zombie' is truly brought into action :)


	4. day 2 | cannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i find it poetic that everything can go to shit in only two days. and that is why i love zombies

“So, why do you need my help again?”

“Steve is a zombie and wants to kill us all.”

Clint stood there, bow in one hand, confusion painted on his face. “ _Yeahhh_ , not buying that. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Natasha sighed, seizing his forearm with a sturdy grasp. “Just come here,” she tugged on his arm, pulling him along as she walked. 

“Jeez, fine.”

When they entered the bar area, Clint had to admit that the scene they arrived at was unusual. On the floor laid Steve, body sprawled out but completely frozen still.

“…What’s up with Steve?”

“Like I said,” Natasha chided, “Steve isn’t feeling too well, and I need you and the other Avengers to keep him secured.”

The problem seemed dire enough to contact Thor. It had been a long while since the New York invasion, Thor admitted he had been itching for a little bit of action. The God was now positioned near Steve, watching the supersoldier with inquisitive eyes. He had never seen anything quite like this. It wasn’t a natural occurrence, nor anything that had threatened the Nine Realms before. Bruce had agreed, studying Steve intently. He would’ve preferred to be working with Tony, but the engineer had ordered him to remain with the infected soldier and the other Avengers. 

“How long has it been since you stunned him?” Bruce asked, laying a worried hand on his chin.

“Forty minutes.”

Bruce sighed, his voice shaky. “Okay, we need to be ready. Was he showing signs of hyper-aggression?”

“I zapped him at the first sign of aggression. But besides that, I don’t think he’s going to be very happy that I used the Widow’s Bite on him.”

“Anyone got handcuffs?” Clint interrupted.

“We aren’t cops, Clint,” Natasha replied. “I can zap him whenever he starts to stir.”

There was an aura of anxiety encircling the room. Most of it emanated from Bruce. Beads of sweat were forming along his hairline and his fingers twitched nervously against his chin. Going against what she just said, Natasha took that as a good time to zap Steve again. _Better safe than sorry._ If it would relax the tense atmosphere, it was worth Steve being pissed at her afterwards. Oh, they also didn’t need Bruce to Hulk out, either.

She approached the infected solider, kneeling next to him. She readied her Widow’s Bite and—

In only mere seconds, they all discovered that Steve hadn’t been incapacitated at all. _He was pretending._

As quick as a bullet, he lunged at her with a piercing screech and dug his nails into her arm, hauling her down to the floor. The other Avengers didn’t have time to react before Steve’s teeth ended up buried inside her neck. The scene turned horrifically gory within seconds, and soon all they could see was _red_. Steve bit down viciously, dragging his nails through her skin as she tried to escape his vice-like grip.

Thor was the first one by her side, attempting to pull her out of Steve's clutches with all his strength. But Steve did not want to let her go. With his nails deep in her arm, the entire appendage was almost completely torn off from her shoulder, but it continued to bleed horrendously from the deep gashes. By ripping her away so abruptly while Steve’s teeth were still embedded in her flesh, Steve tore away a chunk of gore, splattering his face with a shower of scarlet. Strings of skin and flesh were entwined around his pearly white teeth, blood dripping from his chin like a savage beast.

Natasha was screaming in agony, thrashing in Thor’s arms. There was blood everywhere. Steve was standing. He roared, spitting blood onto the floor.

“FUCKING BITCH!” Steve thundered. “I knew I couldn’t TRUST you! You WHORE!”

There was no time to wait for Steve to finish his chain of abuse. Thor passed Natasha over to Clint—who had rushed over to help immediately—and charged at Steve with Mjolnir. Electricity surged through the hammer, and without a hint of hesitation, Thor smashed it across Steve’s face. The soldier went flying, hitting the wall with a thunderous slam and fell to the floor. And yet, that did not stop him; not even slightly. He stood up again, fuming like a bull ready to charge with the intent to kill. 

Thor turned to his friends. “Go and hide! I will keep him at bay!” 

No one opposed that idea. Clint, holding Natasha bridal style, ran out of the room in a panicked sprint. Bruce followed behind, but the man was having difficulties preventing the Hulk from unleashing. The skin around his neck kept flashing green, but Bruce did all he could to calm his heart rate, even though he was running. The three of them ran to the medical bay, locking the door behind them. Bruce fell to his knees, panting wildly to try and catch his breath. His skin had turned green but slowly faded once his hyperventilating began to slow. 

Clint laid Natasha down on the medical chair. Her blood was coating his hands in a sheen of crimson. She was breathing heavily, groaning in pain every few seconds. Blood was spilling from the nasty wound in her neck, dribbling down her body and onto the chair. Her body was going pale.

“Oh, God,” Clint muttered. In a panicked frenzy, he grabbed any medical supplies he could and placed them all onto the bed. Using a gauze, disinfectant and the other resources necessary, he cleaned and bandaged the wound around her neck and her arms. She had already lost a substantial amount of blood. Clint was surprised she was still conscious, yet she was barely on the verge of wakefulness. 

“Please be okay,” he muttered frantically. His heart was beating out of his chest. It had started to make him feel sick.

Natasha, through her pain, managed to break a smile. While it was a small and crooked smile, it was still a grin nonetheless. She grabbed Clint’s hand and squeezed. “If I try to bite you, you kill me, okay? Promise me you won’t risk your life for me.”

He shook his head. “No, Tony is making a cure, right? He’ll fix you. He’ll fix you…”

“Promise me you’ll kill me!” She suddenly yelled, exhaling a furious puff of air through her nose. The infection was already taking over. Anger bubbled in her chest, but she was strong enough to hold it back for a little while longer.

Clint looked to the floor. “Okay, okay. I’ll kill you, but only if I truly need to.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh, not to interrupt, but Natasha was bitten. I’m guessing that’s how the pathogen is spread. We can’t be with her when she changes,” Bruce affirmed. As hard as it was to say, it was the truth. But unfortunately, sometimes the truth hurt.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We’ll lock the door, keep her in here.”

“It’ll be okay. If she can’t hurt anyone, we won’t have to harm her.”

Natasha butted in, “You should get going while Thor is holding back Steve. Go hide somewhere and wait. Tony won’t let you in his workshop. Don’t waste precious time trying to convince him.”

The two men nodded, and Clint squeezed her hand one, final time. “This is nothing like Budapest, huh?”

She laughed. “Enough jokes, Clint. Get somewhere safe before I start having to worry about you, dumbass.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” He saluted goodbye and headed to the door. Once Bruce was out, Clint closed and locked the door, winking at Natasha from behind the window. They left immediately after.

-0-

Twenty minutes passed—to Natasha it felt like hours—and the door to the medical bay opened. Both surprised and worried, she looked over to see who had opened it. In the doorway stood a huge figure whose body rocked side-to-side, with one side of its body lower to the ground than the other, like a weight was hanging it down.

It spoke, voice hoarse and bubbling with rage, “Fucking bitch.”

The figure was Steve, and by his tone alone, it was clear he wasn’t here for a friendly chat. Already panicked, Natasha crawled backwards and hopped off the medical chair, standing behind it as if it were an effective barrier to protect her from Steve.

“Steve—”

Then he walked into the room—into the light. Natasha was cut short of her words. His face was drenched in gore, to the point where there was more red than beige skin showing. But there was something different about his face. Other than the disgusting amount of blood splattered across his face to rival a Pollock painting, there was obvious physical damage. It looked like his skin had been torn and had started to wither, and in some places, the skin looked like it had begun to rot. His jaw was crooked—probably broken from his altercation with Thor— and it looked like a couple of teeth had been knocked out of his skull. 

It was sickening. 

“Steve, please, I know you’re still in there. We’re your friends, teammates… This isn’t right! You’re a hero, not a scumbag criminal.”

In response, he growled. He approached, his movement still irregular joined by a lumbering gait. Natasha noticed his eyes were bleeding, but it was hard to see when there was so much blood on his face already. Being up close and personal with the new Steve taught her a lot about the virus, just by appearances alone. The excessive salivation increased the chance of infectivity through bites, much like rabies. He looked like a feral animal; a sick and dangerous animal.

“You’re sick, Steve. I’m sick, too. But I’m trying to control myself.”

Steve looked distressed. He roared in fury, pulling at his blond hair. “You don’t know ANYTHING. All you do is _lie!_ All of you; all liars. You want to kill me! Fuck you! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU FIRST!” Without warning, he lurched forward and leapt onto the medical chair, sending Natasha jolting back. From there, he jumped off and pounced onto Natasha, landing them both onto the floor. He screeched into her face, showering drops of saliva into her eyes and mouth. 

He was poised to bite her again, but he stopped. In any other case, that would’ve been a good sign. However, Steve began to gag. Before Natasha could slip from his grasp, the soldier vomited… all over her face. It wasn’t normal vomit—actually, it wasn’t vomit at all.

It was blood. _He just fucking vomited blood!_

“Oh, God! What the fuck?!” In a bout of adrenaline, she kicked him off her and crawled away frantically until her back hit the wall. “Oh fuck, oh fuck—” She furiously tried wiping the blood off her face, having to spit a lot of it out, too. Catching her breath became a difficult task. She felt like she was having a heart attack.

“Sorry,” he laughed. “That was Thor. Eating people tends to get a lot of unnecessary blood inside your body. But it’s worth it.”

Was Thor dead? Natasha didn’t want to believe it. If an alien God couldn’t kill Steve, did anyone else have a chance in succeeding? He had to have a weakness. Every disease had a weakness. She just had to look for it.

“You’re sick,” she hissed, spitting out a few more lingering chunks of blood. The iron taste in her mouth wouldn’t leave.

“There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s YOU who’s sick.”

“You have a virus, Steve. When you bit me, it passed on to me. Can’t you see that my eyes are red, too?”

Steve grunted, shaking his head. It was starting to make sense. “Stop lying…”

“I’m _not_ ,” she pushed herself off the wall, inching closer to Steve. “You feel angry, right? Unexplainable, uncontrollable rage?”

He grunted again, reaching hands into his hair to pull at the golden strands.

“A constant, starving hunger that makes you nauseous?”

“STOP,” he roared. “What are you trying to PROVE?!”

Natasha lidded her eyes, a small smirk pulling up the corner of her lips. “That you don’t need to kill me. That we can work together. You aren’t the only one who’s _fucking hungry_.”

Steve was stumped by her answer. The zombie was not expecting her mood swing. “What?”

Natasha, too, was bewildered by her sudden mood swing. She felt like it wasn't even her who formed the sentence before it left her lips.

Whoever was controlling her mouth did not let go of the wheel. “Let’s call a truce.”

Steve didn’t look fazed. “You’re not going to backstab me, are you?”

“You think so lowly of me, Steve. No, I won’t backstab you.”

_She would backstab him, quite literally. There was no way she could help a zombie who had cannibalised her friend._

The supersoldier inched closer, furrowing his brows with a stern glare. Natasha felt her stomach twist when she caught a waft of the rotting stench encompassing Steve. “I accept your truce, but on one condition. Leave Tony for me to take care of. I have… plans for him.”

“Fine. Deal.” She held her hand out for Steve to shake. They shook on it, and at that moment, Natasha knew she was a whole new woman. No more morals, no more rules… she was sick, and if Steve took care of Tony, there wasn’t going to be a cure to save her. She didn’t know if she was okay with that or not. Her thoughts were all over the place.

Steve finally stood up, walking back towards the door. He looked back momentarily to speak, “Eat Banner before he changes. An angry Hulk is the last thing we need.”

Natasha hated the fact she felt even _slightly_ okay with the plan she was crafting inside her corrupting mind. _Everything had gone to shit so quickly, why couldn't she control her thoughts?!_

“Eat his brain,” Steve said, sounding disturbingly similar to a stereotypical zombie. “That’ll kill them both.”

 _Why did she keep agreeing to all this? She was trying to stop Steve only a minute ago!_ This disease was getting inside her head, kept changing her words, thoughts and beliefs. She had to be stronger than the virus, but she didn’t know if she had the mental strength. The throbbing migraine—painful enough that it made her fingers twinge numbly—restricted her thought process tremendously. The idea of eating something red and juicy was the only thing that promised to kill some of the pain digging at her skull.

“Sure,” she almost choked on the word, disgusted at herself. “Sounds like a plan.”

Steve made an amused grunt and exited the medical bay without another word.

Natasha felt like her whole life had ended. She didn’t know how to feel about that.


End file.
